


The Star of Winterfell

by Eadapel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-04 00:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eadapel/pseuds/Eadapel
Summary: The young Stark lord was momentarily struck dumb by the sight before him, a beautiful young woman stood before him, her face given a blinding halo from the sun, which was shining through her black hair, framing hair face perfectly. Though Ned could not distinguish many of the features of her fair-skinned face through the light, he could tell that it would be considered a face of great beauty. Ned would have compared the sight to that of the Maiden herself, had he followed the Andal Faith of the Seven.---What would happen if Ned Stark first met Ashara Dayne three years before the Harrenhal Tourney? How would this affect the rebellion and, later, the Game of Thrones in the court of King Robert?An Alternate Universe story centred around everyone's favourite stubborn and honourable Northern lord. More pairings and characters will be added as the story progresses.





	1. Eddard I - The Tourney at Storms End

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, this is the first fanfiction that I'm posting here, it's an AU that started before Robert's rebellion, that asks what happened if Ned met Ashara before the tourney at Harrenhal? Seeing as both Robert and Arthur Dayne attended the tourney at Storm's End some three years before that, I guessed that Ned and Ashara might accompany the two respectively. So, what happened if they met? And good old Ned had the balls to do something? The next chapter will focus on the revised events of the Harrenhal tourney in 281, and then, prologue 3 will cover the changes to Robert's Rebellion, before the actual story begins at the same time as canon ASoIaF. I'll be using a mix of book canon, show canon, and 'I think this is cool I'm putting it in' AU headcanon, but I'll mostly follow the books in regards to the main things, e.g. Asha not Yara, ages of the Stark kids and so on. The next chapter will come when I finish it, which will hopefully be soon but could really be anytime, as unfortunately, school comes first.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon attend the Tourney at Strom's End, where Ned meets the Lady Ashara Dayne, and her brother, Ser Arthur, the Sword of the Morning.

Prologue 1 – The Tourney at Storms End

**278 AC**

**Eddard I**

Ned Stark was tired. Storms End was the furthest south he had ever been, and, despite the realm being in the beginnings of autumn, he was sweating. He had long ago abandoned his cloak, loosened his tunic, and chosen to hold his tongue when his friend, Robert, complained of the 'cold'. Truly, southern winters could be warmer than northern summers.

Now almost a man at the age of 15, he had left the Eyrie, the castle where he had lived almost half his life, to accompany his friend Robert Baratheon, and foster father Jon Arryn, to the tourney at held Storms End, the castle to Robert would rule one day. Robert was eager to see his mother and father again, the Lord and Lady Baratheon, Steffon and Cassana, it having been some years since he had seen them.

Ned was less eager to attend the tourney, and while he could not say he regretted coming, the heat of the south and weeks in the saddle made him consider it. And, unlike Robert who could not wait to grab the nearest lance and partake in the joust, Ned had no desire to join in with what his father, Lord Rickard Stark, called 'playing at war'. The North did not hold jousts like the South did, on the rare occasions when the Northern Lords gathered to demonstrate their martial prowess, the melee was the main event.

However, there was no melee to be held this time, so Ned would be content to watch from the stands, and no doubt drag the inebriated form of his friend back to his rooms after each day. While Ned debated what he would be spending most of his free time doing, Robert rode up beside him. Already over 6 feet tall, muscled and broad-shouldered with jet black hair and piercing blue eyes, the Baratheon Lordling cut a figure that was both imposing to his enemies, and alluring the many serving girls he came across. Combined with his boisterous and charismatic nature, Ned often wondered if there was a girl in the castle that his friend hadn't bedded.

By contrast, the second son of Rickard Stark was thinner, though just as tall, with dark brown hair, though he had not yet begun to develop a beard. His eyes were the characteristic Stark grey, positioned within the typical long face, and though young Eddard was far from unattractive, he did not have quite the effect of Robert on girls. In personality, Ned was just about as far from Robert as it was possible to be, a quiet and reserved boy, he spoke not to fill silence, but only when he had something worthwhile to say, and while it gained him no midnight rendezvous with the serving maids, it already made men twice his age stop and consider his words.

"What a sight, don't you say Ned?" Robert said, steadying his horse to Ned's pace, "better than Winterfell?"

"Mayhaps," Ned replied, while Winterfell was certainly larger than Storms End, the curving pale grey walls of the Baratheon castle were built over uneven ground, and in some places dropped into the pounding waters of ship breaker bay, and he said as much to Robert.

"Seven Hells Ned, you don't have to be so bloody diplomatic all the time, you are allowed to show some pride in your home, you know! Besides, legends have it they were both built by the same hands anyway, the first Stark King helped to first Storm King to make his castle stand against the sea."

"Aye, if the myths are true."

"What do you think then? You've seen both castles, think they're made by the same hand?"

Ned carefully examined the walls of Storms End, they curved rather than ran straight like the walls of his birthplace and the stones were clearly different, but the inner towers still held similar designs to the many buildings of Winterfell, and each stone block had the kind of perfected shape the could only be achieved by the kind of magic now lost to man.

"Could be, aye," he responded, "both castles are certainly beyond anything we could build today."

They had now reached the edge of the camps, which displayed banners from all across the Stormlands and Crownlands, with many lords attending from both Dorne and the Reach as well. So far as Ned could tell, his Dire wolf standard was the only banner from the North. Camped closest to the walls of the castle, was the three-headed dragon, the royal family.

"Think the King is here?" Robert mused.

"Unlikely," Jon Arryn, the boys' foster father replied, riding up to join their conversation, "the King has not left the Red Keep since the incident at Duskendale last year. It is most likely the crown prince who will be competing today."

"Hmm, we'll see if he's any good later this week then," Robert replied and urged his horse faster towards to gate.

"I suppose we shall, though do be careful Robert, besting the Prince is fine, I daresay he will appreciate the challenge from one as talented as yourself," Robert preened under Jon's praise, "but mind you do not injure or humiliate him, he will be King one day, after all."

"I'm sure Robert will remember to mind his lance," Ned quickly interjected with a pointed glare when it looked like Robert was going to make unwise comments about the Prince's jousting ability, the man had no sense of propriety, and this was before he was into his cups.

Choosing to thankfully hold his tongue, for now, Robert led the party into the castle and prepared to greet his parents.

* * *

 

Days later, Ned found himself in the stands overlooking the tourney field, Robert was jousting today, and had already unseated many of the hedge knights who had entered into the competition, and a few of the highborn knights, though he had yet to joust with his cousin the prince. Privately, Ned thought he was unlikely to, though he dare not mention this to Robert. Before facing the Prince, Robert would have to ride against Ser Barristan Selmy, a knight of the Kingsguard, who was quickly proving himself to be one of the main contenders in the competition, unseating Leyton Hightower, Jason Mallister and Oberyn Martell of Dorne. Prince Rhaegar had already bested Robert's father, Steffon Baratheon, who took the defeat gracefully, and skilled mystery knight, who had disappeared after.

The next major tilt, in a few matches time, would pit the Prince against Ser Arthur Dayne, the legendary Sword of the Morning. Ned idly wondered if the Kingsguard knight would throw the match in favour of his prince, as many Lords would ask, or if Rhaegar would want to win on his own merit alone. From what little he knew of the Prince, though, Ned thought that the heir would be insulted if his opponent were to purposeful lose.

"My Lord," a drawling voice interrupted Ned's musing, and looked up for the source of the voice, "is this seat taken?"

The young Stark lord was momentarily struck dumb by the sight before him, a beautiful young woman stood before him, her face given a blinding halo from the sun, which was shining through her black hair, framing hair face perfectly. Though Ned could not distinguish many of the features of her fair-skinned face through the light, he could tell that it would be considered a face of great beauty. Ned would have compared the sight to that of the Maiden herself, had he followed the Andal Faith of the Seven.

"I... my Lady..." blinking to clear his eyes of both the blinding light of the sun and the beautiful vision of the woman before him, Ned attempted to stammer out a response, "no... no, um, this seat is not taken. Would you, um, like to sit?"

"Yes, thank you, my Lord," she replied, smoothing her skirts and taking a seat, and smiling at him. Ned cursed himself for not having Robert's ways with women, he had no idea if she was generally happy to talk with him, or merely mocking his inexperienced responses. "Will you be jousting later?"

Ned took a moment to compose himself and wonder how to answer. Southron women were notoriously trickier with their words than those of the North, and no matter how hard Robert had tried, Ned had never picked up on the wordplay of the south. Would she look down at him for not partaking in the sport, or admire his stance on refusing to bow to societal pressure? He had no idea. Robert would though. Failing to quickly dredge up any sort of answer that he felt might present himself in a positive light to this mystery lady, Ned chose to resort to what Robert called 'good old blunt Northern honesty'.

"No, my Lady, I do not joust."

She blinked, seemingly taken aback by his abrupt rebuttal, before quickly recovering, and lavishing Ned with another dazzling smile.

"Truly? I have always thought that all young handsome lords such as yourself would be eager to battle on the tiltyard?" Ned's ears coloured at the compliment,  _handsome,_ he thought, before realising the Lady was waiting for an answer.

"Few men of the North joust my Lady," he responded, and suddenly her eyes lit up as if she had just solved a very interesting puzzle.

"Ah ha!" she said triumphantly, "so you are from the North? You are a long way from home?" Now it was Ned's turn to blink in surprise, most people recognised his gruff accent common as Northern instantly, though he supposed that all Common must sound gruff compared to the smooth drawl of the Dornish.

"Aye, my friend is jousting today."

"My brother is as well, he should be coming out soon."

"Has he fared well so far?" Ned asked, hoping not to be viewed as boring company.

"Yes, few of his matches have lasted more than one tilt, though he says that they were not much competition, I confess I was quite unable to tell."

"A trait we share my Lady, my friend has, on many occasions, attempted to teach me what to look for in a good jouster, though I continue to base my predictions of the options of others."

"Have you no desire to learn?" the Lady asked.

"No," responded Ned, hoping he did not sound too curt, "my father calls it playing it war," he explained.

"Playing at war?" she sounded confused, rather than offend on her brother's behalf, which was good Ned supposed.

"Aye, cavalry should be flanking your opponent, and attacking men on foot. If you have mounted knights charging each other, then you need a new commander," the Stark Lord responded, starting to relax in the woman's presence.

"I should like you to meet my brother sometime," she responded smiling, "I'm sure you would have many interesting discussions."

"If he is anything like yourself, I am sure I would be delighted to speak with him my Lady," Ned said, hoping it was at least a passable imitation of Robert's suave manner.

"Thank you, my lord," she responded, rewarding Ned with a small blush, "Here comes my brother now," pointing to the field where the next set of knights were readying their mounts. He had missed several jousts while he had been speaking with the mysterious Lady who had joined him. Ned just about managed to maintain his calm demeanour when he saw who was preparing next, at one end of the tiltyard stood the Crown Prince himself, dressed in midnight black armour, with the red three-headed dragon sewn onto to his doublet. Knowing that the prince had no sisters, he turned to the other legendary knight that stood ready on the field; the Sword of the Morning.

He glanced back at who he now knew was Ashara Dayne and saw what he missed the first time he looked at her face, the beautiful violet eyes. Outside of the Targaryens and other houses of Old Valyria, the Daynes were the only Westerosi house to exhibit the rare purple eyes. Ned could now confirm for himself that the rumours about Lady Dayne's legendary beauty were true, and, if he was honest, perhaps the tale did not do her justice.

Ashara smiled slightly at Ned, and he knew that is sudden realisation had not gone unnoticed. Hoping to somewhat salvage what was left of his dignity, he turned back to watch the joust.

Both parties were now ready and were being handed their lances by their squires. Silence descended on the yard as both riders readied their mounts, before charging down the lanes towards each other. They met in the middle, and both lances hit true, breaking with a resounding crack. To his left, Ned heard Ashara take in a small breath, which she released when she realised her brother was unharmed.

The riders again returned to their squires to collect new lances, while talking started up again briefly around the stands, as men complemented the riding, or exchanged gold as they lost and won bets. The knights clashed again and again, and the excitement in the stadium grew. Ned thought he could hear Robert's boisterous shouting from somewhere down below, but his attention was more focussed on Ashara, who seemed to grow more anxious with every tilt. He wished he could say something to ease her worry, Robert or Brandon would know exactly what to say to reassure her, but Ned, who was hopeless with both girls and jousting, could only sit in silence.

Eventually, on the twelfth lance, the bout ended. Ser Arthur's horse shifted, and his lance hit at an angle, while the Prince struck true, and the Dornish knight was sent flying from his mount and hit the dirt. The stands erupted in noise, as people either celebrated the victory of the Prince or lamented the loss of the Kingsguard's deadliest swordsman. Ashara suddenly grabbed Ned's hand, as she stared intently at her brother's form on the ground. Unsure of what to do to ease the Lady's death grip, Ned begun to rub small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb, hoping that it would do something to help.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was likely only a few heartbeats, Ser Arthur stirred, quickly standing to the roaring crowd, graciously accepting his defeat with nothing wounded but his pride. By Ned's side, Ashara let out a breath, and slackened her grip slightly, looking back at him with a slightly shaky smile.

"Artie is forever telling me he will be fine, and he always is of course, but that does not stop me from worrying," she said.

"I always wonder whether Robert will one day land on something as stubborn as he, but for the moment at least he has proved that he is less yielding than dirt the seven kingdoms over," Ned responded, and Ashara laughed at his quip, while Ser Arthur and Prince Rhaegar led their horses back off the yard.

Suddenly, Ashara stood, still clutching Eddard's hand.

"Come," she said, somewhere between a command and a plea, "I said I should like you to meet my brother."

Ned blinked, once again finding himself staring up at the Dayne beauty, and considered refusing. Robert was jousting soon, and Ned had never really walked much with women who were not his mother or sister without prompting. Would Robert not be upset if Ned was not watching him joust? Then again, Ned thought, as he gazed at Ashara's smooth freckled skin, beautiful violet eyes, and shiny dark hair, and figured Robert would be more annoyed if he turned down an invite from such a beautiful woman. Besides, meeting the Sword of the Morning was practically a once in a lifetime opportunity in itself.

"I would be honoured, my Lady," he replied, standing.

* * *

 

Ned and Ashara met Ser Arthur outside the stands, with Ashara unhooking her arm from the crook of his elbow to run at her brother.

"Artie!" she cried, "you scared me!" Arthur turned to his sister and laughed, accepting the enthusiastic hug from her.

"I always scare you, Ash," he replied, chuckling, "besides, Rhaegar would never forgive himself if he hurt me, his heart is far too good for that." Ashara laughed slightly at that as well and hugged her brother tighter.

"And all the same I shall continue to worry whenever you enter these fool's contests, brother," she replied.

"Fool's contests?" Arthur asked, "with whom have you been speaking, sister?" Thankfully, Ned thought, he sounded more amused than angry. Ashara smiled at her brother and gestured to Ned.

"Brother may I introduce..." she trailed off, and Ned released that not once during their conversations, both at the stands and between then and now, had either of them actually introduced themselves. Ned had deduced Ashara's identity from her comments about her brother, but Ned had neither given his name nor made any identifying remarks.

"Eddard Stark, Ser," he announced, "of Winterfell." Ashara's eyes widened slightly, while he had said he was Northern, she was clearly not expecting him to be a son of the North's paramount house. Arthur too seemed surprised and said as much.

"Stark?" he questioned, "I did not think the North was represented at this tourney, especially one so far south."

"I travelled with the Arryn host," Ned replied, "I am fostered at the Eyrie."

"Ah, with Lord Arryn, he is a good man," Arthur replied, now realising that had not, in fact, missed a whole section of the camp.

"Aye," Ned confirmed, "he is."

"So," Arthur said, "I hear you have been trying to turn my sister against me, perhaps you hope to compete in a tournament without me?" Luckily, a childhood spent with Brandon, who loved nothing more than to tease all his siblings about anything and everything, allowed Ned to recognise the words as a friendly barb, rather than a serious accusation, and he responded in kind.

"I do not joust, good Ser, so your retirement would not aid me. My concern was more for that of your sister, I fear if I ever sit with her when you joust again, I shall lose the use of my hand." Arthur laughed, and Ashara blushed, looking slightly guilty.

"I am grateful for you to calm my sister while I am riding, and this is not the first time I have heard of Ashara's strong grip." The Lady in question appear to blush deeper, and Ned thought that it looked quite pretty on her. "So young Eddard, it appears you have made quite the impression upon my sister, and I must do something for you in return for keeping her company this afternoon?"

Ned considered a moment before responding, he was not some excited young Southron squire who would throw himself at the feet of the famous knight and beg for the honour to polish his armour, yet he was just 15, and could not help but feel slightly awed at the favour Ser Arthur was offering him.

"I have heard tales of your fights against the Kingswood brotherhood in the Vale, yet I fear they do not do your deeds justice, I should like to hear the story from your lips." Ned paused again, considered whether his next request would be pushing his luck, "And it would be my honour to spar with you."

Ashara laughed, "if you want an accurate account of Artie's heroics you should ask one of his sworn brothers, Arthur is far too humble to take much credit himself."

Arthur chuckled at his sister's needling but gestured for Ned to walk on.

"Come," he said, "I am most interested to see your skill with a sword in hand, young Stark, and while we walk I shall tell you of the Smiling Knight." And with that, Ser Arthur offered his arm to his sister, who declined and linked with Ned instead, much to his surprise, and relief, it had been nice to walk with Ashara and led them towards a training ring, whilst he began, with gusto, explaining the skill and cruelty of his foe.

* * *

 

Some hours later, Ned returned to his quarters in Storms End. After hearing Arthur's modest account of his actions in the Kingswood, the two had fought with blunted blades, with Ashara as an audience. While Ned had been utterly defeated in every bout, Arthur had been nothing bit complimentary, making several suggestions to his foot and blade work, and saying he would be a force to be reckoned with once he had finished growing.

After giving some final pieces of advice, Arthur had taken his leave, and returned to the Targaryen camp, to speak to the Prince, the final joust would be tomorrow, and Arthur wanted to know who he would be facing. Ned had then mustered up the courage to ask Ashara to walk with him, and, to his delight, he found her easy to talk to, even if the way she had clutched at him when she tripped had made his heart beat faster, and his mind fog up.

Eventually, however, he had escorted her back to her quarters and then returned to find a somewhat irate and pacing Robert waiting for him.

"Ned!" he shouted, "where were you? I looked for you in the stands!"

"Did you win?" Ned asked, slightly taken aback by the force in Robert's greeting.

"No, Selmy unhorsed me, but never mind that, where were you, Ned? Even Jon was starting to worry!" the Stormlord groused.

Ned felt slightly guilty at the thought of worrying Jon Arryn needlessly, he probably ought to have told someone where he was going. "I was with Lady Dayne," he replied.

Robert stopped where he stood, and his faced morphed from anger into confusion and then to shock. "Lady Dayne, as in Ashara Dayne?" Ned nodded, and Robert suddenly laughed, stepping forward to clap Ned on the back, "Ned Stark!" he cried, "with Ashara Dayne! I was beginning to think you didn't have it in you!" Ned's face heated up, both embarrassed and insulted at the insinuation.

"We talked Robert," he said shortly, annoyed at the implication of him dishonouring her, "walked, talked and she introduced me to her brother."

"Her brother!" Robert said, still excited, though thankfully now off the topic of what Ned did or did not do with the maiden, "you talked to Arthur Dayne!" Ned nodded again, and Robert gestured to a nearby chair, "sit Ned! Sit, you must tell me all about this, Brother and Sister both!" Ned hesitated slightly, before sitting down and beginning his story.

* * *

 

The next day, Ned and Robert sat with Ashara and her brother, and watched as Ser Barristan unhorsed Rhaegar, and lacking a Lady wife, celibate as the Kingsguard was, crowned his host, Lady Cassana, as Queen of Love and Beauty. When it came to the feast, Ned was careful to place both Arthur and himself between Ashara and Robert, eventually foisting the inebriated Stormlander off to Jon and his father, before enjoying another night of engaging conversation with Ashara.

A few days later, as the various parties began to leave, Ned left with Jon and Robert back to the Eyrie, leaving Ashara with a small broach he had commissioned, with help from Robert, from the Storms End blacksmith, and a promise to send a raven. Ned was sad to leave her behind, though Robert had laughed and said that now Ned had finally had a taste of courtly love, there were plenty of ladies back in the Vale.

Jon, however, seeing that Ned was more like to stay faithful than Robert, promised him full use of the rookery, and reassured him that there would soon be another tourney in which they could both attend. Thus, for the first time, Ned found himself looking forward to Robert dragging him along to another joust.


	2. Eddard II - Tourney at Harrenhal Pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned travels to Greywater Watch, where he meets his family who have come down from the North to attend the tourney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry this took so long to get up, I've been trying to balance everything with school. It looks like Harrenhal will be split into at least two parts now, with this sort of being the build-up to the tourney, with all the Starks getting back together.

Prologue 2 – The Tourney at Harrenhal

281 AC

Eddard II

Over the past 3 years, Eddard had exchanged countless letters with Ashara Dayne, there was almost always at least one raven in flight between the Eyrie and Starfall at any time. His correspondence with the Dornish Lady had dropped somewhat in 280 when Ashara had moved to King’s Landing to act as a lady-in-waiting to Princess Elia Martell. While she never openly spoke out, Ned got the feeling she was not enjoying her time in the capital, though he chose not to mention this in his letters, as more than once he had inspected the seal of her letters to find it had been tampered with.

For the first few moons, Robert had paraded dozens of women in front of Ned, from his favourite serving girls to the daughters of major Vale houses, seemingly delighted in his apparently newfound interest in women. Fortunately, for both Ned and the girls, Robert eventually realised that the Stark lord had not, in fact, been tempted by the wonders of flesh, and had merely found a pen pal of the opposing sex. Though, of course, this did not stop Robert from needling him about his ‘Dornish Lady love’ whenever he spotted need heading to the Maester’s rooms.

However, in spite of his vehement denials to Robert about his interest in Ashara, Ned one day discovered that he had indeed fallen for her. She had a dry wit about her, more than capable of utterly outpacing him in a battle of words. Ned had never been interested in the dainty Southron Ladies that Robert sometimes chased, whose only desire in life was to stitch clothes their husband’s clothes and bear their husband’s children. If Ned were to marry, he thought he would marry a Northern Lady, someone who could be his equal, even if they did not carry a sword, though, thinking of Maege Mormont, maces were a possibility.

Despite being of the south, however, Ashara was every bit as wilful and competent as a Northern lady. Ned supposed it had something to do with the Andals, the North and Dorne were the only Kingdoms of the First Men to beat back the Essosi invaders, and the greatest foreign influence on Dorne had been the Rhoynar, led by the warrior Princess Nymeria.

Having thus confronted his feelings, Ned sent, in his next letter, what he hoped was a subtle and effective attempt at courting. He failed. Ned knew this because Ashara had sent an immediate reply asking if he was perusing her. Tentatively hoping that Ned had not utterly ruined his chances with the one woman he corresponded with that wasn’t his sister, Ned had written back saying; yes, he would be honoured if Ashara were to enter into a courtship with him.

Thankfully, Ashara had replied that she would, and thus the two began a more intimate communication, the first evidence of which was that Ned was now honoured enough to be allowed to call her ‘Ash’, the nickname that previously only her brother was entitled to.

Soon, though, Ned would finally be able to see Ash in person again. The Whents of Harrenhal had called a massive tourney, to which they had invited most of the realm. Ash would be joining Princess Elia and her husband to represent the crown, while Ned would join Robert, now Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm’s End, his parents had died not long after the last Tourney in a shipwreck, within sight of the walls of the castle.

Not only would Ned be seeing Ash again, but also the rest of his family. His brothers, Brandon and Benjen, and his sister, Lyanna, would be travelling down from Winterfell. He could not wait to see all of them, Brandon would now be 19, a man grown and, as Ned had heard in letters from Lya, betrothed. The woman in question was one Catelyn Tully, eldest daughter of the Riverlands Lord Paramount. Ben, ever with a talent for words, had described in glorious detail the varied facial expressions of the eldest Stark son as he was informed that soon he would be forced to spend the rest of his days confined to a single bed. Though Ned’s reply had called it an impossible task, he had eventually received a response stating that, despite everyone’s expectations, Bran had thus far kept to a monogamous lifestyle since the news was received. Ned had simply asked Ben to inform him when the Other’s came to Winterfell.

Ben, his youngest brother, would now be 14. The last time Ned had seen him he was only just able to string his words together properly, but now Ben was on the cusp of manhood, and if his letters were anything to go by, quite intelligent. Lyanna had written to him a few months back with a letter steeped in laughter about how Bran had finally managed to get Ben blackout drunk, gleefully writing that Ben got almost as boisterous as his eldest brother when deep in his cusp. Bran, it had already been determined, was a happy drunk, and thus was usually careful to monitor his consumption of drink, as to not spoil his image of the masculine Northern.

But it was Lyanna he missed most of all, she was now 15, a woman grown; a Lady, though Ned knew better than to tell her that to her face. Lya disdained everything that was supposed to make a Lady of a great house, she preferred breaches, riding and the bow to skirts, sewing and the harp, and Ned was sure that if she was able to get her hands on a sword, she would be just as confident with that as well.

He had shown some of Lya’s letters to Robert, as well as forwarding a few to Ash. Ash had responded with compliments to his sister and requested that he teach her about southern etiquette, so that they may write. Having been reluctantly tutored in the intrigues of court during his correspondence with Ashara, Ned had correctly interpreted the true meaning of Ash’s final remark – write and tell Lyanna what not to put in letters addressed to King’s Landing.

Robert also responded positively to Lyanna, praising her spirit and beauty, and begging of the opportunity to write to her as well. His sister had loved Ashara from the moment her first letter arrived in the rookery at Winterfell and had dropped Ned several unsubtle hints that the Dornish Lady would make an excellent good-sister. Robert, on the other hand, was received much more cautiously, it appeared that as his interest in Lyanna grew, the she-wolf’s waned. She had responded to Robert’s courting attempts with polite courtesy, though those had come from Ash, Lya not knowing the first thing about courtesy, which Ned’s poor foster brother seemed to take as interest.

Thus encouraged, Robert had pulled Ned aside a few weeks before they were due to depart for the tourney, and asked Ned if he would like to depart early, and meet up with his siblings, rather than join Robert and Jon’s party. At first, he was slightly hurt and insulted by the fact that his friend did not seem to want to spend time with him, but all was soon cleared up when Robert passed him a letter, saying “for your father”. Robert, it appeared, wanted Ned to present Robert’s suit for Lyanna’s hand in person.

Ned had mixed feelings about this, for one, it would bring Ned and Robert closer to being true brothers, practically as close as was possible, but he was also unsure of the prospect of Robert as a husband. Ash had said as much when he had broached the subject with her in a letter, _Robert is a good friend, I am sure,_ she had written, _but will he be a good husband?_ Ned was not sure. Robert was much like Brandon, and his brother had cleaned up his activities quickly when marriage was announced, but then again, the wailing bundle with black hair and piercing blue eyes nestled in the Castle of Moon was a step further than Brandon had ever gone.

Still, Ned had a long time yet to think about it before he had to make up his mind, the journey on the road to meet his siblings would take a while yet. From what Lya had written, she had neglected to mention the level of his relationship with Ash to Bran and Ben, leaving that task to him. He was grateful, Winterfell might have run out of ravens if Brandon had gotten wind that Ned was attempting to court a Lady, and he had no interest in reading through lectures about how to capture a woman’s heart, he was doing just fine on his own.

 

* * *

 

 

Thus, a few days later, Ned found himself enjoying the hospitality of the Reeds of Greywater Watch, having taken a ship from Heart’s Home to take him to where the Kingsroad entered the North. He found the Lord of the Neck, one Howland Reed, to be great company, both men of few words, the enjoyed many a companionable silence together while Ned waited for his family to arrive. On the occasions where they did speak, Howland regaled him with tales of wargs and greenseers, though Ned was uncertain if there was any truth to them or not.

Greywater Watch was a fascinating castle. Unlike other castles Ned had visited, like Winterfell or the Eyrie, the seat of house Reed had no fixed position, it floated around the bogs of the neck on its crannog, a manmade island held together by the roots of a weirwood tree. The castle itself was made not of stone, but of wood and moss, and if Ned had not known it was there, the walls would have blended into the surroundings. Howland had also made Ned remove his boots, the men of the Neck walked barefoot, to avoid tearing up the floors, and the feeling of thick moss between his toes was a... unique feeling.

Surrounding the keep was a city, or at least, what the Crannogmen called a city. The Grey Dun, as it was called, was not so much a city as a meeting point, anchored to Greywater, anything from small huts to many roomed households would float up and moor themselves together with thick, vine ropes and wooden staves. The entire platform was engaged in a constant, mesmerising dance, as crannogs from the centre cast off and floated out, with other crannogs moving in to fill the gaps they left. Many days, Ned sat watching it for hours.

Ned wasn’t too sure when his family would arrive, though. There was no master here, or, for that matter, anywhere in the Neck. The Crannogmen had no need for the ‘wisdom’ of the Citadel, ravens were unable to navigate through the haze of the bog, and it didn’t help that none of the castle’s stayed in the same place for longer than a day. The diminutive Northmen also had their own medicines and remedies, when Ned injured himself training, he was given a thick green paste to dull the pain, as opposed to milk of the poppy, collected from the swamps.

Altogether, Ned’s stay in the Neck had been enjoyable, he was quickly finding that he could count Howland Reed as a friend, and the swamps were a peaceful place, like the Eyrie, though with a greater feeling of life. Until, that is, the quite was abruptly shattered by the arrival of one Brandon Stark.

“Ned!”, the cry cut the Stark lordling from his thoughts, as he quickly looked up to locate the source of the shout, “Seven hells, look at you! When I last saw you, I could pick you up with one arm, now you must have ladies swooning over you wherever you walk!”

Attempting to ignore the slight reddening of his cheeks at his elder brother’s comment, Ned rose to greet his family as they crossed nimbly onto the Greywater crannog, well, mostly nimbly, Benjen would have fallen had Lyanna and a Reed man not grabbed his arms. Luckily for the youngest Stark child, Brandon didn’t notice, and quickly stepped forward to sweep Ned into a crushing hug, which his brother returned.

“Careful Brandon,” Lyanna’s voice reached Ned, “I’d rather you didn’t crush Ned to death before me and Ben get a chance to greet him,” Brandon responded by grinning into Ned’s shoulder, _wait, shoulder? Since when did Bran’s head reach my shoulder?_ and stepping back, allowing Ned to get his first good luck at his Brother. As he remembered, Bran’s grey eyes were practically glistening, always alive and playful, his deep brown hair was wild and untamed, and now joined by and equally scruffy beard, though this did nothing to detract from his looks, which when combined with his handsome face, created the kind of aura that turned the heads of every lady in the vicinity. He had grown since Ned had last seen him as well, his shoulders had grown broader, and his muscles thicker, though he realised, Bran now stood almost a head shorter than Ned.

“Wow, you’re not the tallest anymore Bran!” Ben said, quick to point out the newfound deficiency in their brother’s figure. Bran, for his part, simply blinked and gaped, as Lyanna laughed at him.

“I don’t believe it,” he said, still gaping, “when did this happen?” Ned shrugged, truth be told, he had never in his wildest dreams imagined that he would be taller than Bran, his brother was just... Bran, and Bran was always one step ahead of Ned.

“You can’t win everything Bran, so don’t go sulking now, though I’m sure _Catelyn_ will be there to make you feel better.” Their sister teased, saying the name that Ned did not recognise in a singsong voice, before throwing herself into Ned’s arms, and burying her head in his chest. “I’ve missed you, big brother, Winterfell was never the same without you.”

“And the Eyrie felt empty without you, little sister,” Ned responded. Lyanna too had changed from the young girl she had been when he had seen her last, she had since grown into her looks, no longer could Ned mistake her for a boy, she now held a type of wild, Northern beauty. Her brown hair, slightly lighter than Bran’s, flowed in curling waves, framing her face, and reaching halfway down her back, though it no longer held perfect quality after a long trek through the Neck, like Brandon, the unkemptness only added to her beauty. Her eyes were large and seemingly innocent, though one need only look into their grey depths to find the same mischievous glint as her eldest brother. Lyanna was slim of frame, slimmer even than Ned, who had little bulk to him compared to some, which was made obvious due to the breeches she wore, having no doubt shed her dresses the moment she left Winterfell and the Southron influence of Master Walys.

Lyanna was quickly joined in the hug by Benjen. Somewhat of a cross between his older siblings, still shorter than both of them, he was louder than Ned, though less confident than Bran, with almost freakishly long legs, he was about equal to Ned in terms of thickness. His blue-grey eyes held laughter and earnestness, without the mischief of Ned’s other siblings, and his hair was long and brown, currently tied back to keep it out of his eyes. He was, Ned noticed, trying to grow a beard, though at the moment, he had not manged much more than sideburns and a few wisps of hair on his chin. No doubt this escapade was providing Bran with infinite enjoyment.

Eventually the three separated, bring Bran back into the conversation, as they stood, each of them recognising the differences in each other since they last met. It was Lyanna who eventually broke the silence.

“Sooooo, Ned,” she began, drawing her words out in a way that made Ned narrow his eyes, and worry about what his sister was about to say, “heard anything from Ash recently?” Ned unleashed what Robert called ‘The Glare’ upon the Stark girl, willing the Gods, old and new, to force her to take her words back. Unfortunately, Lyanna only grinned at him.

“Ash?” Brandon asked, “Who’s Ash?” Ned turned his gaze to Brandon, opening his mouth to deflect the eldest Stark’s attention to something else, but Lyanna beat him to it.

“Only Ned’s Lady friend.” Bran’s eyes went as wide as saucers, and Ned returned his glare to Lyanna, at full force.

“Lady friend!” Bran sputtered for a moment, shocked at the fact that someone had associated his quite younger brother with a woman. “You’re not pulling my leg here, right Lyanna? Ned actually has a woman?”

“I do not ‘have’ a woman,” Ned responded curtly, both annoyed at Lyanna forcing him into this conversation so soon and offended on Ashara’s behalf. “Ash is her own person.”

“So, she does exist! Wow, our little Ned has truly grown up! What’s she like?” Brandon waggled his eyebrows to emphasise the last question.

“Yeah, Ned, what _is_ Ash like?” Lyanna prodded as well.

“You know what she is like Lya, you have...” Ned trailed off as he realised what Bran and Lya were actually asking, “oh. No, I don’t... I haven’t... Not like that!” he sputtered out as Lyanna began to laugh at him, but, to his surprise, Bran didn’t join her. Rather, he gave Ned an approving smile, and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good,” Ned blinked, that was a very un-Bran like sentiment, “you can’t build a relationship with just sex, and I should know, I’ve had lots of it.” Okay, that was more like Bran, but still, he had expected disappointed teasing about his sex life, or rather lack therefore, as opposed to a compliment on his honour. Seeing his brother’s confused look, Brandon elaborated. “I know you Ned, you wouldn’t just jump into bed with some woman because she’s pretty,” Bran frowned slightly, “this Ash _is_ pretty, right?” Ned nodded warily. “Right, if she’s exchanging ravens with Lya you’re serious about this, probably courting her?” Again, Ned nodded, “Well then, I hope to soon meet my future good sister.”

Ned smiled at his brother, it seemed that the years had matured him somewhat, tempered the wolf’s blood. “I think Ash would like that too,” he replied, “I have told her much about you.”

“Good, just...” Bran trailed off slightly, before resuming, looking Ned in the eye, with looking sadder and much more serious, “your Ash is highborn, yes? You may get more freedom as a second son, but father seems intent on using us all as bargaining chips to gain links to the south, he won’t let you marry a serving girl from the Vale, no matter your heart.”

“Ash is highborn,” Ned replied, it saddened him to hear that his father was growing colder still, he had never been the same since their mother had died birthing Benjen. “She is sister to the Lord of Starfall.” Bran nodded and smiled again, before he froze suddenly, eyes widening in shock for the second time in ten minutes.

“Wait, Lord of Starfall, Dayne, your Ash is _Ashara Dayne_!” he exclaimed.

Enjoying Brandon’s shock at discovering just who ‘Ash’ was, Ned responded, “Aye, we met at Strom’s End.”

“Is she as pretty as they say?” Ned’s eyes took on a faraway look as he recalled Ashara’s face when they said good bye outside the walls of Robert’s ancestral seat.

“Aye,” he said at last, “prettier.” He continued to stare, slightly lovestruck, for a few more moments, before he shook his head and returned to reality. “I intent to ask father if I can present my suite at Harrenhal.”

“It’s taken you long enough Ned,” Lyanna beamed at him, “I can’t wait to finally meet my new sister in person.” Ned began to smile back, but then his mind connected Lya and marriage, and his lips dropped.

“I...” he began, “Robert gave me a letter to give to father, he is asking for your hand.” Lyanna’s smile dropped as well.

“Oh.” she managed.

“It’s okay,” Ned tried to reassure her, “father might not say yes.”

“He will,” Lyanna assured him,

“You don’t kno-“

“He will, or at least he will the moment he speaks to that chained rat, Walys. He’s always going on about how I need to be tamed and taught how to be a proper Lady, packing me off to a Baratheon will just be an added bonus to getting me out of the castle.”

“The new Maester is truly that bad?”

“He’s awful,” Ben chimed into the discussion, “he keeps complaining about how dull Winterfell is, says father should spend some gold on decorations.”

“Idiot,” Brandon said, “he’s trying to turn us all into Southron ponces, thankfully father hasn’t listened to him on that front, we need that gold for when winter comes.”

“He’s not far off,” Lyanna complained, “he’s already banned me from wearing breeches, and practicing archery. Say’s its ‘unbecoming of a lady,’” Ned stared, their father had always indulged Lya, letting her get away with far more than Brandon ever did, likely due to her resemblance to mother. If he was pressuring Lya like this... what had happened to the father Ned remembered?

“Where is father now?” Ned asked, surely his siblings were exaggerating, and speaking with Rickard himself would clear things up.

“He went off to Lord Reed,” Ben responded, that stung slightly, that his father’s first thoughts had been of his bannerman, and not his son. “He’s not staying with us on the road, he’ll be taking a ship to the twins, and then onto Riverrun to speak to Lord Tully.”

“Grandfather Rodrik is the Stark in Winterfell at the moment and hating every moment of it.”

“I should speak to him then, before he leaves,” Ned said, and took off towards the keep, and towards his father.

“Good luck Ned!” Lya called after him.

 

* * *

 

 

Ned found his father in what passed for Lord Howland’s solar, a cosy room designed for the diminutive Crannogmen, not the massive and imposing form of Rickard Stark. Ned’s sire carried all the traditional Stark looks, a thick head of dark brown hair on both his head and face, with the same grey eye’s as Ned and his siblings, but while the children’s eyes were filled with laughter or mischief, Rickard’s were hard and cold. Ned remember a time when his father’s eyes danced, when the coldness was part of a mask; the mask of the Lord of Winterfell, but since his mother had died, Rickard had taken the mask off less and less. Now Ned wasn’t sure if there was any difference between the man and the facade.

“Father,” Ned said, bowing his head, “Lord Reed,” Howland acknowledged Ned with a nod and a smile.

“Eddard,” his father responded, his voice was deep, much deeper even than Brandon’s, “have you enjoyed the Vale?”

“Yes father, Lord Arryn his been a gracious host.”

“Good,” Rickard replied, and furrowed his brows, as if thinking hard, “and Lord Baratheon? Are you close.” he questioned.

“We are...” Ned trailed off, were they friends? They certainly spent a lot of time together, but how much of that was because Robert enjoyed Ned’s company, and how much was because Ned was the only other boy of Robert’s age he didn’t know. “friends,” he decided at last. His father nodded, but remained silent, clearly thinking about something. Unable to bare the silence much longer, Ned withdrew Robert’s letter.

“Lord Robert bade me to hand you this father,” Rickard took the letter, swiftly opening the stag bearing seal, and read quickly.

“He wants to marry Lyanna.” It was a statement, but Ned nodded all the same. “It would be a good match.”

Rickard said nothing further, and Ned resisted the urge to fidget.

“Lyanna does not like him much,” Ned said eventually, once again hoping to break the wall between father and son.

“That is a minor issue,” his father said, as if he was talking about the summer snows, and not his daughters happiness, “Baratheon will attend the tourney, yes?” Ned nodded again, “Good, tell him I accept, you can introduce Lyanna to him then.” Ned gaped slightly, before he quickly shut his mouth. He hadn’t expected father to agree so readily, Lyanna would be horrified. Ned quickly scrambled to try and salvage the situation.

“Surely this is rather fast, father, they have not even met yet!” Rickard narrowed his eyes at his son, and for a moment Ned was sure his father would remind him the he was the Lord of Winterfell.

“What would you suggest then?” Ned blinked, and quickly trawled his brain for an answer, drawing upon every lesson of politics Ash had made him sit through in her letters, before deciding on a response.

“Let them get to know each other at Harrenhal, if Lya- Robert,” Ned quickly corrected himself, seeing now that Robert’s opinion mattered more to his father than Lya’s, “still wishes the match then you can announce it at Bran’s wedding.”

“Hmmm,” Rickard mulled this idea over, “you have a much better head for politics than your brother, I’m sure Maester Walys would love to talk to you,” Ned tried not to shudder at the idea of being left alone with someone whom Lya called a rat, “very well, introduce the two at the tourney, if Baratheon likes her, we will announce it at Riverrun.” Rickard glanced away for a moment, before looking back at Ned. “Was there anything else?”

Ned swallowed the bundle of nerves that was threatening to rise up, and spoke, hoping his voice wouldn’t waver.

“I have been talking with the Lady Ashara Dayne, may I have your permission to ask for her hand?” His father pondered his for a moment.

“Dayne, hmm, her brother his close to the Prince... Yes, I give you permission. Is that all?”

“Yes father,” Ned said bowing. Rickard was already turning back to continue his conversation with Howland. Talking to his father was over, now he had to survive to tourney, and asking Ashara to marry him. Oh, and her brother’s reaction. He hoped Arthur would approve, because being the Sword of the Morning and a Knight of the Kingsguard, there was very little Ned could do if he didn’t.


	3. Eddard III - Tourney at Harrenhal Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashara arrives at Harrenhal and meets the Stark family, before Ned pops the question.

Prologue 3 – The Tourney at Harrenhal Pt 2

281AC

Eddard III

Harrenhal was massive. Ned knew this of course, nearly anyone who had been educated by a Master was aware that Harrenhal was the largest castle in the realm, it was just one of the facts you learnt by rote, Highgarden is the seat of the Tyrells, Casterly Rock, the Lannisters, and Harrenhal is the largest castle in all the Seven Kingdoms. But factually knowing this and seeing it for your own eyes were very different. Brandon seemed to agree, as he let out a high pitched appreciative whistle.

“That’s... large,” Bran said, for it was. If you had asked Ned to describe Harrenhal in one word, he would take a while to stop thinking of synonyms for big. On Ned’s other side, Ben laughed at Bran’s basic description, and even Lyanna managed to crack a smile. It was good to see Lyanna returning somewhat to her old self, she had been determined to be miserable ever since they had left the neck, believing her betrothal to the ‘antlered whorefucker’ (that particular nickname had made Bran spray his wine all over Ben, who had been too busy staring at Lyanna’s blatant display of profanity to notice) to be all but certain.

All three brothers had tried to cheer their sister up, Bran had pointed out that none of them had seen Robert since he had passed the letter to Ned, citing himself as an example of someone who had got his act together when a marriage was placed in writing. This had cheered Lya up somewhat, but she still maintained that for all Brandon’s indulgences, he still had ‘rules’. He never chased a married woman, backed off if he was spurned and never drank deeply when he was in unfamiliar company, things, which, Ned was forced to admit, Robert did not seem to care for.

Ned had tried one last time, whether for Robert’s sake or his sister’s he did not know, saying that Robert would come to love her if he did not already. “He does not know me,” Lyanna had replied sadly, “he wants a beautiful Southron maiden to stitch his clothes and bear his children.” Lyanna certainly was beautiful, but she was far from Southron, while she liked children, she had not yet expressed any interest in having them, and the less said about her embroidery the better.

“Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature.” she had stated the last time he had bought up any defence of Robert, and he had no reply to that.

Clearing his head of Lya’s plight Ned looked back up at Harrenhal, they were closer now, and the once imposing sight of the massive towers were now tempered somewhat by the damage. Several towers lay crumbling, their great stone blocks blackened and fused together by the might of dragon fire. Even now, as knights from across the realm poured in to compete in what would easily be the largest tourney of the generation, the castle still managed to hold an air of abandonment to it, very few of the towers were lived in.

“A grim place,” Ned said.

“Aye, Harren and all his sons died in those towers,” Bran replied, gesturing towards the largest tower still standing, Kingspyre, Ned remembered it was named. Apt.

“Not to mention all the slaves who perished building it.” Ben chimed in, “so much death in one castle, no wonder they say it’s cursed.”

“That is not all,” a soft voice from behind them called. Howland Redd had decided to join to Stark party to witness the tourney, though he had no intention of competing himself. Ned was glad for his quiet company on the road, and Lya had taken a liking to the crannog Lord as well. “Harren the Black cut down weirwoods that had stood for thousands of years to rafter his halls. The Gods do not look kindly on such desecration.” All the Starks made faces at that, the Old Gods of the North were fairly lax, especially when compared to the zealots of the south, but there were several acts that were punished harshly by both Gods and men. Kinslaying, breaking guest right and despoiling the Heart Trees were amongst the most heinous of crimes.

“We should make our camp outside,” Lya suggested, speaking up for the first time, “best not to anger the Gods.”

“Aye,” Bran agreed, “we’ll camp outside the walls, hopefully, we can refuse hospitality without insulting the Whents.”

* * *

 

 

 

By the end of the day, the Northern camp had been set up just outside the walls of the great Riverlander fortress. Stark and Reed banners fluttered proudly in the wind, around them were many other banners, belonging to dozens of smaller houses from across the realm. Ned could see the Arryn falcon and Baratheon stag hanging from within the castle, Jon and Robert having beaten the Stark party here.

Refusing to sleep within the castle had gone a lot smoother than Ned had expected, it was he and Bran who spoke to Lord Whent when he greeted them, and he was initially worried, having never represented his house so formally before. Luckily though, his fears were for nothing, between the two brothers, they were able to easily sway the River Lord in to letting them camp outside without taking offence, Bran had laughed and japed and flashed his smile, while Ned had sombrely explained their issue with the castle’s architecture, and together, Ned felt, they made a rather good team at negotiation.

Robert and Jon met them the next morning, and while Ned enthusiastically introduced his foster father to his brothers, Lyanna had hung back, wanting to listen in before she had to talk to her possible fiancé. At first, Ned could Lya’s apprehension wane somewhat, no doubt feeling slightly more comfortable as Robert was revealed to be quite like Brandon, but then Robert went to introduce himself, and it all went downhill from there.

“My Lady,” Robert had said, taking Lyanna’s hand and kissing it slightly too enthusiastically for a woman with whom he had no formal contract. “I must say you look radiant,” he said, looking her up and down, causing Lya to smile slightly at the compliment. Ned’s sister opened her mouth to reply, but Robert turned away from her to address Ned instead. “She’s just as beautiful as you said Ned,” he beamed.

Lyanna’s smile froze, half-formed, while she had wanted Robert to leave her alone, Ned suspected that she was insulted that he was somehow able to both get in her way and ignore her at the same time.

“My Lord,” Lya’s reply was cold, like the winds of the North.

Robert appeared to stumble slightly over Lyanna’s frostiness but continued to smile at her.

“I look forward to when we are wed, my Lady. Then Ned and I shall be true brothers.” Ned winced. If Robert truly wanted Lya to like him, then he needed to invite her to do something, like go riding. Hells, if Robert gave her a sword and ask her to train with him she’d likely throw herself at his feet. As it was, however, Ned imagined that he could hear his sister’s teeth grinding from where he was stood, at least he hoped it was his imagination.

“Mayhaps, my Lord,” Lya’s voice was even colder now if Robert suddenly found himself frozen into a block of ice, then Ned truly wouldn’t be surprised, “but my Lord Father has not agreed to anything yet. If we are to marry, it will be announced at my brother’s wedding.”

“Oh,” Robert seemed slightly lost for words, and Ned felt it best to step in before Robert wedged his foot into his mouth any further, or Lya cut it off.

“Our father thought it best that you two should get to know each other first,” he said, stepping forward, Lya gave him a grateful smile, “the tourney is the perfect time for it.”

“Well then,” Robert re-plastered his grin on his face, the kind that he used on the serving girls in the Eyrie, “I hope we will get to know each other very well, my Lady.” Lyanna still regarded him stonily.

“Perhaps you should take a ride together?” Ned offered, feeling duty found to give some pointers to his foster brother, maybe if he set him on roughly the right track, Robert would begin to properly understand what kind of woman Lyanna was. “That will give you plenty of time to speak with each other.” Lyanna sent another glare the way of her brother but appeared to tolerate the idea of riding with Robert. She tolerated most things if she could ride a horse during it, and Ned had no doubt if she took major exception to Robert, she could outride him back to the castle.

Despite Ned’s prodding, however, Robert only laughed.

“I wouldn’t want to force your sister to endure the indignity of riding in skirts, Ned,” he said. Lya opened her mouth, no doubt to tell Robert exactly what she thought of riding in skirts, but the Stormlord had already turned to face her. “My Lady,” Robert bowed slightly, “would you give me the honour of fighting for your favour in the joust?” Ned sighed heavily. He had tried. Robert was on his own now.

“I shall think on it my Lord,” she replied, “If you’ll excuse me, I must retire.” With that, she picked up her skirts and stalked determinedly back to the Northern camp. Robert blinked at her retreating form and turned back to look at the Stark brothers, as if for an explanation.

“Our sister is still tired from the journey,” Brandon said hurriedly, and thankfully Robert seemed to accept this.

There was silence for a moment, which grew more awkward by the second.

“I should go check on her,” Ben said and sped off in the same direction Lyanna went.

At the same time, Brandon pointed to the edges of the camp, “those are Hornwood banners,” he said, “I should probably greet them.”

Ned nodded, “I shall join you, brother, it has been a while since I have been seen by the North.” Thus, the two Stark brothers quickly made for the safety of Northern company, luckily, Jon Arryn appeared to also understand the desire to break up the gathering after the disaster of Robert and Lyanna’s first meeting and chivvied the young Lord Baratheon to greet his own bannermen.

* * *

 

It had been five days since Ned’s party had arrived at Harrenhal, and the Northern camp had now grown to include, as well as the Starks and Reeds, the Dustins, Hornwoods, Manderlys and Mormonts, as well as a few other masterly houses sword to those attending. All had opted to join the Starks outside of the keep, even the Manderlys, who worshipped the Seven and thus should not have feared the curse of the Weirwood.

Lya had been doing her best to avoid Robert and had thus far mostly succeeded beyond a few, curt conversations. Unfortunately, today she was forced to stand beside an exceeding chatty Robert, while Ned and his friend and siblings went to greet the incoming Dayne party. All were excited to finally meet Ashara, who Brandon has called, “the woman who finally managed to melt my brother’s heart,” a comment which caused Ned to glare at him.

Ned’s anger disappeared the moment he saw Ashara appear. She was wearing a flowing dress made, from what Ned could see, of two pieces of fabric. First, she wore a long grey dress that hugged her waist but left her shoulder’s bare, and on top of that, she wore a second dress, made of sheer fabric, the same colour as her violet eyes. This feels to her wrists and pooled about her feet in pleated waves. The bodice was expertly embroidered with silver thread, formed into hundreds of tiny falling stars, the arms of House Dayne.

She looked just as beautiful as Ned remembered, her shiny black hair had been tied back and braided so it rested over her left shoulder, it had been done in a more simplistic, northern fashion, which Ned appreciated, he had never understood the complicated ways Southron ladies liked to wear their hair. Her skin had grown slightly paler, likely due to having moved north to King’s Landing, where the sun was sparse due to the current winter, but when Ned reached her eyes, he stopped. Her eyes had always been vibrant, strong violet orbs that he could get lost in for hours, but now, just under the surface, there was a haunted look to them.

However, when she caught Ned’s gaze, the look vanished, and a genuine smile spread across her face, which caused him to feel no small rush of pride that he was able to make Ash feel better with his mere presence. Forming a smile of his own, Ned made his way towards Ashara.

“Lady Ashara,” he took her hand and placed a delicate kiss upon her fingers, “I am happy to see you again, I have sorely missed your companionship these past years”

“Lord Eddard,” Ash returned his greeting with a dazzling smile, “it has been too long, you recall my brother, Arthur?” Ned most certainly did, he had learnt more from 5 minutes in the ring with the Sword of the Morning than he had in the past 3 years with the Eyrie’s master at arms.

“Ser Arthur,” he greeted, “I seem to recall most of our conversations involving me lying flat on my back?” The Kingsguard knight laughed.

“You sell yourself short Stark,” he responded, “you lasted longer than most.” Ned smiled at the compliment, and gestured behind, introducing his companions.

“My brothers, Benjen and Brandon,” both boys smiled and gave short bows, “my sister Lyanna,” she practically beamed at Ash, glad to finally meet her, “and Robert you have met.” The Stormlord also bowed.

“My Lords, my Lady, it is a pleasure to finally meet you face to face,” Ashara replied.

“The feeling is mutual my Lady,” Brandon said, before shooting Ned a sly grin that created a sinking feeling in his gut, “it is nice to see that Ned was not just writing to himself to make us think he’s interesting.” If glares could kill, Ned’s would have turned Brandon into a block of ice that would not have thawed even in the Summer Islands, but the Ash’s musical laughter echoed over the gathering, and Ned softened his face.

“My Lady, Ser,” Ned turned back to address the Daynes, “we would be honoured if you would join us for tea in our camp.”

“We would be delighted,” Ashara replied, as her brother gestured towards the castle, “lead the way.”

* * *

 

Several hours later found Ned, Bran, Ben, Lya, Ser Arthur and Ash sitting within one of the comfortable tents that they had bought with them from the North. Designed for harsh winters north of the neck, the inside easily held a snug warmth in the early spring of the Riverlands. Jon Arryn had turned up a few hours ago, and while he seemed surprised to see Ash and Arthur inside the tent with Ned, he chatted genially with Arthur for a few minutes, before eventually dragging Robert off the meet a few straggling Stormlander entourages that had just arrived, much to Lya’s relief.

Robert had since been replaced with Howland Reed, who had been reluctantly dragged into the tent by Lya when he poked his head in and was now being peppered by questions about Crannogman culture. Bran had also bought two of his friends to the discussion, Lord Willam Dustin and Ethan Glover, introducing them to Ned. Willam had been married to Barbrey Ryswell for a little over 3 months now and was boasting about the horse he had been given by Rickard Ryswell as a dowry, both Bran and Ethan were looking green with jealousy, and Ned wondered if ravens would be sent to the lord of the Rills before the tourney was done.

Ben was currently listening with rapt attention as Arthur regaled him with tales of his brother’s in the Kingsguard. This left Ned and Ash with some relative privacy, and when their conversation about silly childhood escapades reached its conclusion, Ned tentatively broached the subject he had been sitting on all night.

“Ash, are you okay?”

Ashara blinked, startled.

“I, yes. I am fine Ned,” she quickly said defensively, “why do you ask?” Ned paused, mulling over his words. Bran had always been better at this sort of thing, able to sit down next to a man and have him spill his hopes, dreams and struggles within a few minutes, but for Ash’s sake, Ned had to be good at it now.

“I know something troubles you, Ash,” he said softly, meeting her eyes and holding them, the haunted look that had fled over the evening was returning, “I can see it in your eyes.” Ashara continued to hold his gaze for both a moment and an eternity, and Ned could see the well of suffering that Ash had witnessed in just three years before she broke the gaze and looked down.

“I cannot tell you,” her voice was barely above a whisper.

Ned cupped her face with one hand and looked into her eyes again, the violet orbs showing far more age than they should on a maid of just twenty years. “You can tell me anything.” He said quietly.

For a moment, Ashara looked so vulnerable, so scared, that Ned wondered what happened to the fiery, confident woman he knew from her letters, but then she appeared a steel herself and spoke.

“The King.”

Ned blinked. There had been precious little news of the King since his capture at Duskendale, but he supposed that Ashara, being a companion to his good daughter and brother to his guard would be much better informed than he.

“He is paranoid, he sees enemies everywhere, in his court, in his lords, even in his son. The only man he trusts is his eunuch, a creature called Varys whom he has named the master of whispers, and Varys is ever whispering in his ear, telling him of treasons, real or imagined. And when they are arrested, Aerys has them executed. But... but it is not with a headsman, it is not clean. He... he... he burns them, Ned. He burns them alive, and I have to sit there, with Elia or Rhaegar or Arthur and  _watch_! Watch, as men I know to be innocent of whatever chargers that spider has invented scream as the green flames of his pyromancers consume them.” By the end, Ashara’s voice was barely distinguishable from her breaths, and her eyes were darting around the tent, to see if anyone was listening in. She took a deep breath and continued, “it’s horrible, but I, at least, am safe enough as Elia’s companion. At the moment, Varys knows better than to sentence anyone close to Rhaegar.”

“Gods Ash...” Ned muttered, horrified beyond belief. He had heard that the King was... eccentric, his father had once mentioned that Aerys had planned to build a new wall, invade the Stepstones and irrigate the Dornish desert, though nothing had come of his ideas. To hear that the King was now well and truly mad, though he dare not say that out loud, was disquieting the say the least, he was the most powerful man in Westeros. He turned his mind back to Ashara, who had composed herself slightly, and appeared to be regretting her quite outburst. “I knew you were strong, but this... I could not have kept my head in Kings Landing with that.”

“Thank you.” Ashara smiled at him, “I wish I could leave King’s Landing,” she said, slightly wistfully.

“Then do,” he replied, “you can come with me to Riverrun.”

“I would love to, but Arthur is responsible for me, at least until I marry, and he cannot leave the Prince to attend with me.”

“Then marry me.” The words were out of Ned’s mouth before he had even registered thinking them. He was treated to a look of utter shock and surprise on Ashara’s face, though thankfully she did not look horrified. Ned felt all the blood rush to his face, and he flushed, meanwhile he could hear the sound of someone choking on their wine, probably Brandon, from somewhere over his shoulder. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to marry Ash, he had, after all, gotten permission from his father to ask for her hand, he had just expected that the circumstances would be different, more moonlight strolling and less rushed confessions of the madness of their monarch.

Ashara was still staring at him, and the rest of the conversation in the tent had stopped. Ned felt himself turn even redder and wondered if after tonight he would be required to run away to the Night’s Watch to escape the embarrassment he was about to experience.

“Truly?” Ashara asked. She hadn’t slapped him yet, and Ned hoped that was a good sign.

“Aye,” he responded nervously, “if you’ll have me, and I suppose you’ll have to write to your father and...” Ned’s rambling trailed off as Ashara’s face lit up in a smile.

“Yes!” she cried, jumping up and flinging her arms around his neck, and then her lips were on his, and the tent disappeared. Ned had never kissed a girl ‘properly’, as Bran or Robert would have put it, that particular interaction had been limited to Lyanna and his mother, and Ned wasn’t a Targaryen. Before today, Ned would also have said that he didn’t think he was missing anything. Now, staring deep into Ashara’s purple eyes, he was forced to revise that statement.

Somewhat at a loss as to what to do, Ned wrapped his arms around Ash as well and kissed her back as best he could, content to let Ashara lead him. After what felt like an eternity, but must have only been a few seconds, they broke apart.

Breathing heavily, Ned took in Ashara’s face, her cheeks were flushed faintly, but her slightly swollen lips were pulled into a playful smirk, she had clearly come out of the encounter more composed than Ned. Her own eyes took in Ned’s image, he was considerably redder than Ash, and his mouth was still open slightly in shock. Their eyes met, grey and violet, and Ned hoped that he could say without words what her agreement, what  _Ashara_  meant to him.

Then Brandon whistled, and the moment was broken.

“Ned,” Bran said in disbelief, “married? I never thought I’d see the day!”

Ned rolled his eyes fondly at his older brother, before turning back to Ashara.

“I do still need to write to your father though, I doubt he would be pleased if I stole you away like a wildling.” Ashara only grinned at him,

“There’s no need,” Ned blinked, confused. Was Ashara defying her father? He wouldn’t put it past her, she was not the kind of woman who would be dragged to the heart tree, or sept in her case, unwillingly, or be denied a marriage she did. Still, he’d rather not make enemies of the Lord of Starfall by absconding with his daughter.

“Not like that, silly,” Ash laughed, clearly reading his thoughts, “I already asked father by raven before we arrived at Harrenhal, I was hoping you’d ask.” Ned smiled back at her, he knew that Ashara liked him, she’d said as much before, but to hear that she hoped for marriage too, it was a weight off his shoulders.

“Then we shall need to organise it, we shall have to wait until after Brandon is married of course, but...”

“...as soon as possible,” Ashara finished for him with a smile.

“Nonsense Ned,” Brandon interjected, “I should hope that the sept at Riverrun is big enough for both of us. Besides, if I can’t get married alongside my brother, who can I get married with?”

Ignoring Lya, who had muttered ‘your wife’ under her breath, Ned beamed at his elder brother. For all that Ned and Bran had fought over the years, their personalities often clashing, they would always be there for each other as brothers. ‘There will come a time,’ their mother had told them as children, ‘when the snows fall, and the white winds blow, then the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.’

“No.”

All eyes turned to Arthur, who had as yet remained silent. Ned’s stomach fell, and his earlier elation evaporated. If the Sword of the Morning refused to let his sister marry, there wasn’t exactly much Ned could do about it.

“Sooner.” Now Ned was confused, as far as marriages went, organising one for a little over two weeks' time was fairly rushed, and Arthur wanted it to happen sooner? Why? Seeing that the confusion was shared by most people in the tent, Arthur elaborated.

“While it is uncommon to recall a betrothed to court, it is not unheard of, but the King cannot call a woman away from her husband. Besides,” Arthur smiled at his sister, “I am unlikely to get leave, and I would not want to miss my little sister's wedding.”

Ashara smiled back but seemed apprehensive of her brother’s plans. “While I would love for you to be there as well Artie, where are we going to get a Sept and Septon on such short notice?”

This time it was Howland who spoke up, “The God’s Eye”.

All the Northerners perked up slightly at this, while Ash and Arthur looked confused.

“The God’s Eye is a Weirwood grove a few hours ride from Harrenhal, on the Isle of Faces,” Ned explained, “one of the few left south of the neck, I only know of the one at Raventree Hall, though that is dead, and a some scattered throughout Dorne.”

“We still need an officiant though,” Arthur pointed out, “and I haven’t seen any Northern priests around.”

“That’s because there are none,” Bran said, “anyone can officiate a union before the Old Gods, all we need are cloaks, Ned can borrow mine.”

“Bran, you don’t have to-” Ned began, before being cut off by Ash.

“I made one before we left,” she said, smiling, “anything else.”

Bran shook his head, “that’s it, so long as Ser Arthur is willing to give you away?”

“Of course,” the Kingsguard knight said, “we should do it tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Ned’s head swam slightly, though he had no objections to marrying Ash, he  _had_  proposed, after all, he hadn’t expected it to go this fast. Yesterday he was a bachelor, today he was betrothed, and by the end of tomorrow, he would be married.

“This has to be the quickest I’ve ever seen a marriage arranged,” Lya said, and then she grinned at Ash, “I can’t wait to call you sister!”

Ashara smiled back, and Ned wondered what he had gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this out guys, this was harder than I thought to write. It also appears that Harrenhal is going to take up a few more chapters yet. Next time will be from Ashara's PoV, and will cover the wedding and opening feast. I'll try and get this one out sooner!


End file.
